Another moved over. The rest shuffled sullenly together.
'So. This means eight pressed men. Now who's it to be?' Binney was not to be put off by the stony hostility he met, and pointed to one likely looking young able seaman.
'Apprentice!' snapped Heppel.
'Y'r protection, if y' please,' Kydd said heavily, holding out his hand for the paper. A weak explanation for the absence of papers died at Kydd's uncompromising stare.
The rest were quickly gathered in. There were several prime seamen who could look forward to a petty officer's berth if they showed willing, but one had Kydd's eyes narrowing — a sea-lawyer if he wasn't mistaken, probably a navy deserter who would give a 'purser's name', a false name, to the muster-book and would likely be the focus of discontents on the lower deck.
'Get y'r dunnage then,' Kydd told the new-pressed hands. They went below to fetch their sea-chests and ditty-bag of small treasures, all they had to show for their endless months at sea.
Binney signalled to Achilles: the cutter would take the chests and sea gear to their new home. 'Thank you, Captain,' he said courteously. 'We'll be on our way now.'
Heppel said nothing, but his fists bunched.
'Ah - ye'd be makin' up the pay, Cap'n?' Kydd asked quietly. It would suit some captains conveniently to forget wages for pressed long-voyage men and pocket the sum; it was the least Kydd could do to ensure they were not robbed.
'Haven't the coin,' Heppel said truculently.
'Then we'll accept a note against the owners,' Binney ' responded smoothly, and folded his arms to wait.
The press catch mollified Dwyer — they were all seamen and would not take long to become effective in their posts. Achilles got under way and, under the brisk north-easterly, stood out into the Channel for the long board to Spithead.
On the quarterdeck the atmosphere improved and Dwyer could be seen chatting amicably to the midshipmen. He turned leisurely to the officer-of-the-watch. 'Should you sight a fisherman, we'll take some fish for the people.'
'A pilchard boat, sir,' the officer-of-the-watch reported later. The boat bobbed and dipped in the steep mid-Channel waves. Faces turned to watch the big warship approach and come aback as she drifted down on the fishing boat.
'A Frenchy, sir.'
'The fish tastes the same, does it not?' Dwyer said. It was an unwritten custom not to interfere with the fisheries, for among other things fishermen could be sources of intelligence. 'Pass the word for Mr Eastman.'
The master was a Jerseyman and knew the Brittany language like a native. 'Tell 'em we'd be interested in a few baskets of pilchards if the price is right, if you please.'
The transaction was soon completed: it was more profitable to tranship a catch at sea and continue fishing. The master leaned over the rail, gossiping amiably as baskets of fish were swayed inboard.
He straightened abruptly. A few tense sentences were exchanged and then he strode rapidly over to Dwyer and whispered something urgendy to him. Conversations died away as curious faces turned towards them.
Eastman returned quickly to the ship's side and spoke to the old fisherman again. Then he returned to Dwyer, his face grave. Dwyer hesitated and the two went below, leaving an upper deck seething with rumour.
'Mr Kydd! Mr Kydd, ahoy - lay aft, if you please.' Binney's hail cut through Kydd's speculations about the situation with the boatswain and he went aft to the helm, touching his hat to the lieutenant.
'We are to attend the captain in his cabin,' Binney said shortly, turning on his heel. Kydd followed into the cabin spaces. Strangely, the marine sentry had moved from his accustomed place at the door to the captain's day cabin and had taken position further forward.
Binney knocked and, at the brisk 'Enter', tucked his hat under his arm and opened the door. In the spacious cabin Dwyer and the master stood waiting.
'I have your word of Kydd's reliability,' Dwyer said curdy, looking at Binney.
'Why, yes, sir, he is—'
'Very well.' Dwyer looked disturbed, even hunted. 'What I have to say, you will swear not to divulge to a soul aboard this ship.' He looked first at Kydd, then at Binney.
'Sir.' Wary and tense, Binney spoke for both of them.
Dwyer's eyes flicked once more to Kydd. Then he said, 'The fisherman has sure knowledge of a danger to the realm that in all my experience I can say has never before threatened these islands.' He took a deep breath. 'The fleet at Spithead has refused duty and is now in a state of open mutiny. There is a red flag over every ship and they have set at defiance both the Admiralty and the Crown.' He wiped his brow wearily. 'The fisherman cannot be expected to know details, but he swears all this is true.'
Kydd went cold. The navy — the well-loved and sure shield of the nation - infected with mad revolution, Jacobin plots? It was a world turned upside-down.
'By God's good grace, we have been spared blundering into the situation, but we have to know more.'